The Night Before Christmas
by Forensica X
Summary: It's Harry's first Christmas as a dad, but he can't shake the feeling something's amiss. Father Christmas thinks his disbelief's funny, but still has a gift for the incredulous wizard. Deathly Hallows Compliant One-shot.


A/N: This is just a bit of random fluff that ran through my head.

* * *

 **The Night Before Christmas**

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring - except for one young wizard with a faded lightning bolt scar over his left eyebrow beneath a shock of messy black hair. He stood with a polished wand in one hand and his other on his hip as he surveyed the cosy sitting room.

Weeks before, he'd strung tiny balls of twinkling lights over the mantle and down the stairs, and three red and gold-striped stockings hung by the chimney. The glow of the embers in the hearth made their white stitching look orange in the dying light, spelling out his, Ginny's and James Sirius' names in curling script. Paper chains covered in red and gold glitter stretched in spokes from the darkened dome light in the ceiling to the walls. Boughs of holly weighed heavily over the diamond-paned windows, where frost and small deposits of powdery snow pressed against the outside of the glass.

A full tree stood in the corner of the room, beside the fireplace. The magical strings of light sparkled throughout its dark, heavy branches, and glass baubles fixed to the tree with prodigious sticking charms glinted subtly. Magic-animated ornaments moved everywhere. A tiny shoemaker pounded on the heel of a tiny leather boot. White mice scurried here and there, disappearing amidst the needles and reappearing elsewhere. Ten little wizards and witches in scarlet and gold robes zoomed around the tree, miniature lanterns hanging from their delicate broomsticks. White, ever-burning, never-drip, no-heat candles flickered on the end of each branch. Below, brightly wrapped parcels labelled mostly for little James waited for the following morning, when he would blearily stare around while Harry and Ginny helped him unwrap the pile of toys, books, and clothes their friends and family had gifted him.

Ginny had bet James would get bored and crawl off to play with the paper before they got through the third gift.

Harry thought his son would last at least until her second cup of hot cocoa.

The man frowned at the picture-perfect room after a lingering look and then turned to look into the kitchen. He stood stock-still, ears straining, knuckles white as he clenched his wand, but whatever had woken him made no noise.

Still, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

With a short breath through his nose, Harry silenced his footsteps and padded back up the stairs. He pushed wide the partly-opened door to James' nursery to spy the baby sprawled on his back in the crib, his blanket kicked to the side. He leaned over the pale wooden rail to tug it back into place and brush his fingertip over his son's tiny, warm brow. James didn't stir aside from a twitch of his button nose, but his father stood a little longer to stroke his downy hair and breathe deeply of his familiar, sweet scent. He almost laughed at the curly-toed pyjamas Hermione had bought him. Ron had rolled his eyes at the muggle's idea of Christmas elf attire. Hermione had ignored him, smirking, then sobered to let Harry know she'd transfigured a second, larger set and draped it over Dobby's grave.

Harry tapped the rails with his wand, and a series of runes glowed to life over its surface. A slight shimmer in the air indicated the activation of a powerful ward, and another whisper cast advanced locking charms on the one large, picture window nearby. The wizard consciously kept his breaths deep and even despite the anxious tattoo pounding beneath his ribs as he left the nursery, locked the door behind him, and checked in on Ginny.

Her long, fiery hair fanned around her head like a red halo. Her long, thick lashes twitched in her sleep, and one of her pale, gold-freckled arms had escaped the thick quilt to drape across his empty spot in bed. With nothing amiss, he repeated the security measures on the windows and warded the door as he left the room.

He couldn't shake the feeling something wasn't as it should be, though. The fine hairs at the back of his neck prickled, and the air hummed with magic, tense and heavy, against his skin.

THUMP!

Harry jumped and crouched low as a reflex, eyes darting to glare at the ceiling overhead. He cast a quick sticking charm at his glasses and made his way quickly outside and through the front door.

"Auror!" he shouted, pointing his wand toward the roof, where clouds of smoke cut through the slowly falling snow. "Come out where I can see you!"

He allowed three seconds of silence before casting a ball of light above the roof. The sudden burst of light chased away the darkness, and a second spell blew away the smoke.

Nothing.

"I'm going mad," Harry muttered to himself and lowered his wand before stepping back inside.

His pulse still raced in his ears while he dried his socked feet and threw a warming charm at himself. It had almost returned to normal when he looked up and gaped.

A figure dressed in burgundy, fur-trimmed robes bent by the tree, his gloved hand clutched around a toy broom wrapped with red ribbon and an enormous bow. Harry cast by reflex, and a white beam struck the little man in the chest. He frowned in distress and the flush suffusing his rosy cheeks spread until his entire face glowed red.

"Oh dear," the interloper fretted. "Is the immobilising spell really necessary?"

"Who the hell are you?" Harry asked incredulously. "And yes, you're trespassing and we get death threats often enough that I have a very strict curse-on-sight policy with people in my house I don't know."

"Ah," the man sighed, eyes twinkling brightly and long beard twitching in mirth. "Well then, I suppose I should thank you for not casting a nastier spell."

"Who are you?" Harry repeated, feeling his eye twitch.

"I have quite a lot of names," the little man smiled. "Santa Claus, Saint Nicholas, Sinterklaas, Father Christmas, Strega Nona…"

"You're-" the wizard blinked, and his voice twisted in disbelief. "Father Christmas?"

"It's the easiest approximation," Santa Claus waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially. "I'm a spirit manifest through the magic generated through the power of children's combined belief. I'm a Fae being, if you know what those are. I give little boys and girls and genderless kiddies gifts during their chosen annual gift-related winter holidays."

A long beat of silence passed between the two while Harry digested the matter-of-fact explanation.

"I must be dreaming," he finally said, tucking his wand away.

Santa Claus, his movement returned, shrugged and continued producing gifts from a scarlet sack at his feet. Harry goggled while the enormous head and shoulders of an oversized plush bear squeezed from the sack's mouth and floated to sit against the wall, bow around its neck, beside the tree.

"That thing's bigger than Gin."

"James dreamed about one," Santa informed him.

"He's not even one year old yet!"

"Ho ho!" the little man laughed jovially. "His little brain still has big dreams, though. Thus, the bear."

"O.K.," Harry breathed, rubbing his temples. "Assuming I'm not dreaming, and you're really real, how come I haven't seen you or evidence of you before now? The first time I ever got a gift I remembered was from the Weasleys when I was eleven."

The Faerie straightened, holding a brightly wrapped box between his hands, and frowned sadly at the taller man.

"There was a ward against Fae around the Dursleys' house when you were a child, and Hogwarts is considered-" he stuck a pipe between his lips and took a long draw while he organised his thoughts.

The scent of cinnamon and cherries filled the air as he expelled spiralling white smoke.

"I suppose you could call it neutral territory, banned to Fae beings with more awareness than birds," he continued. "And so, I only ever had things for you before your dear mother and father passed, for which I'm very sorry. I've been petitioning to have access to the castle, but alas!"

He smiled again, the momentarily distress gone from his jolly face.

"Things are what they are, and this is for you."

Santa held out the small box and Harry took it after staring for a long moment.

"I'm not a kid, anymore," the wizard said softly. "Thanks, but I have everything I'd ever want."

"Perhaps," Nicholas shrugged as he hiked his sack over one shoulder. "But I think you'll like this."

"But what-"

Harry looked up and found himself alone. He cast a revealing spell, but aside from the two balls of light that shot up the stairs, received no indication of his visitor. With nothing else to do, Harry tugged the ribbon from the top of the box and shredded the paper. He worked the lid off to find a larger-than-usual golden snitch nestled within. Harry plucked it from the satin surrounding it and held it closer. Its silvery wings opened, and in the dulled metal, he discerned carefully etched script.

Harry's first Christmas - For our favourite little wizard, from Grandmama Dorea and Papa Charlus.

As soon as he released his grip, the snitch flew lazily to the top of the tree, where it began orbiting the star perched there. He smiled, laughed, and looked around at the warm sitting room one more time before returning to his bed.

Ginny groaned as Harry slipped under the covers but flinched away as her fingers came in contact with his chilled skin.

"You're freezing," she complained. "Where did you go?"

The wizard grinned as he shucked off his shirt and pulled the slim woman against his side. She squirmed in discomfort, but didn't protest as he soaked up her warmth.

"Met Father Christmas," he whispered, tucking her head against his shoulder and inhaling the floral smell of her hair. "He gave me something that belonged to my dad's dad."

"That's nice," she hummed sleepily.

Harry laughed and slid his wand back beneath his pillow, took of his glasses, and set them on the nightstand.

"I love you. I don't think I could be any happier than I am just now," he murmured.

She made a small sound of content, and wrapped in her warmth, her smell, and the comfort of knowing their son slumbered peacefully next door, slid into his dreams.


End file.
